The arm of Matul Remrit is severed and we dregs are left scattered. The broker is too dead to count for me. I cut off his fingers and he is not faking. I will do what best I can to describe the situation: a sunrise happened since the wooden sword pierced my side. I am with enough dregs to fill a squad. No dwarf reports the strength to move the mule corpse off this cursed wagon but I cannot find my whip to verify these claims. When we split from the brothers, some were run through and dead in the bellies of animals at last correspondence. I do not know if the brothers live. They are not coming for us, and I hear the wolves howl.